


could it be i'm your taste?

by jolie_unfiltrd



Series: baby be my next prey [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Book Club, F/F, F/M, Its very contextual, Jon is a Vampire, SO, Some texting, Spooky season made me do it, Texting, This got spicy quickly, Vampire romance novels mentioned explicitly, and sexual, sansa is a siren, some nonsense, technically????, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Jon is a vampire. Sansa is a siren. Could I make it any more ~obvious~?Or, Jon finds out the Targaryen family curse involves fangs, agonizes about how Sansa will take it, and everyone in the family finds out before her because Arya can't keep a secret.title from fangs by younger hunger
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Series: baby be my next prey [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988080
Comments: 38
Kudos: 132





	could it be i'm your taste?

**Author's Note:**

> Um, I have no idea where this came from and I have no defense for why I wrote this. Thank you to [@letterstomylove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterstomylove) for reading/editing this piece of nonsense. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Trigger warning for (I can't believe I'm about to type this): blood sucking? Blood kink?? I don't know?? I didn't take it too seriously?? But midway through writing I did up the rating so you are _welcome_ for that. 
> 
> And for backstory purposes that I didn't feel like writing into the story: most of the Starks are werewolves, Tullys are sirens, Theon is a merman who can shed his tail and walk on land and bang his boyfriend. 
> 
> Also also - this song is baller but this part is my favorite for this fic: "baby, be my next prey. I'll make you make me chocolate pancakes, kiss me on my dumb face. could it be I'm your taste? have you seen what hides on my face?" 
> 
> THATS ALL 
> 
> ENJOY/I APOLOGIZE

“Let me get this straight,” Arya said as she delicately wiped the beer foam from her lips, “you’re a vampire.”

“Yeah,” Jon said, miserably, swirling the dregs of his dark drink as if it would be his last.

“Because of a… family curse?”

He nodded, grey eyes glinting silver in the faint light of the bar.

Arya chortled with delight. “Oh, Sansa is going to _flip_.”

“I know,” he groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. “And we just finally started dating and now this is going to ruin _everything_ –“

Arya, being the kind-hearted, generous, loving soul that she is, let him ramble on for a few minutes longer before poking him none too gently in the shoulder. “Uh, she’s going to flip in a _good_ way.”

This got Jon’s attention. His gaze snapped up – and yes, now that Arya was paying attention, his movements were a smidgen too fast to be human – and his jaw was agape. His elongated canines glinted in the dim light before he remembered to snap his jaw firmly shut. With his pale skin and dark hair… it was a wonder none of them had predicted it before.

“A good way?” he said, in an almost whisper.

Arya leaned across the table. “Have you never looked at the books she’s always reading?”

Jon looked mortally offended. “No, Arya, I respect people’s privacy-“

“Overrated,” she waved him off.

“Arya, you really shouldn’t-“ His voice was getting the lecturing tone that he must have learned from her father because really, it was shockingly effective, and so she cut him off again.

“They’re _vampire romance_ _novels_ , dude.”

His jaw fell open once more, and she watched his pupils do this eerie dilate-constrict thing and she wondered if this is what it looked like when vampires had a stroke. Could vampires have strokes? If it’s a blood pressure thing? Maybe if they gorged themselves on-

Arya put a pin in that line of thought in order to rescue her best friend, by smacking him over the head. “Pull yourself together, man, by the gods.”

“You think… she’ll be into this?”

She wrinkled her nose and curled her lip. “Don’t really want to think about it much, to be honest,” she said, before shuddering and moving on, “but yeah, I do. She’s into literally everything else you do, so why would this be any different?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Arya, maybe because I have-“ he lowered his voice to a threatening and rather over-dramatic hiss, “- fucking _fangs_.” The pointed tips glinted as he flashed his teeth in a grimace.

Arya rolled her eyes, muttering to the heavens above that she thought she was _done_ with this nonsense once the two of them started dating, but _oh no_ , god forbid they just get their shit together and bang it out and/or talk it out like _normal_ people.

Well, as normal as they could be, anyway. Considering, you know, the whole siren/vampire thing. 

“And she could lure you to the depths of the ocean with her voice, Jon,” Arya said, before chugging the last of her beer. “I think she’ll get over it.”

\---

**ARYA:** U r not going to believe this

 **GENDRY** : Probably not

 **GENDRY** : What did you do now

 **ARYA** : Not me, for once

 **ARYA** : JON

 **GENDRY** : I’m sorry, you “did” Jon?

 **GENDRY** : …

 **GENDRY** : Do I have a vast misunderstanding of our relationship or

 **ARYA** : IS A VAMPIRE

 **ARYA** : Jesus let a woman type in peace

 **ARYA** : Lol as if I’d ever

 **ARYA:** Gross

 **ARYA:** Ugh now I need to cleanse my mental palate of that image

 **ARYA** : Wanna come over

 **GENDRY** : …

 **GENDRY** : *sighs*

 **GENDRY** : Yeah, I do.

 **ARYA** : HELL YEAH

\--- 

Sansa sauntered down the street, humming lightly and only half-noticing the flock of sparrows darting around her. Her heels clicked a consistent cadence against the street, pencil skirt just riding up her thighs as she consciously kept the volume of her humming low enough that the construction men across the street did not look at her, agog, jaws open - and inevitably suffer a technically-workplace-related-injury.

It had taken practice, years of it, but she could pass through the city streets practically unnoticed at this point.

Or, well, not noticed for anything more than her bright red hair, braided down her back, or her long, luminous legs. If someone looked very closely, they might be able to notice the scales - but she'd never had any complaints before on the shimmering of her legs.

Jon certainly hadn't been able to keep his hands off of them, not since their first date, when all that repressed longing had burst to the surface. It seemed that once he allowed himself to want her, and once she gave him explicit, continued permission to touch her - (he'd taken some convincing that yes, she really did like him, and yes, she really did want to date him, and it wasn't some "reverse siren fuckery", as Robb had unhelpfully convinced him it might have been) - he couldn't stop.

(She'd come into her voice at eighteen, back when she still thought Jon - the dark, broody orphan boy Robb had slung his arm around at hockey practice and half-adopted into the Stark family - was, well, dark and broody and not worth a second glance.

Sansa had learned to control the dulcet, dangerous tones of her voice relatively quickly - and in the process, had learned to pay attention to the minute details that she'd never noticed before. The rate of pupil dilation. The pulse jumping beneath the tender skin of the throat. The dark curl that always fell forward in front of his ear. The way he, from the day of her eighteenth birthday, wore ear plugs.

The way he looked at her - really, truly looked at her - gray eyes molten and dangerous.

And yet - it was the same way he had looked at her for the last few years. Like there was a secret to her, one worth knowing, one he wanted to spend years puzzling out. Jon looked at her like she controlled the tides themselves, like she called the moon into the sky each night, like she – _personally_ – was responsible for the dark chocolate sea salt candy being in stock at the nearby corner store - (she _was_ , actually, responsible for that one, but he didn’t have to know that) – and she recognized, immediately, that he had looked at her like that for years.

She had refused to let him take out the ear plugs until she knew she had perfect control of her gift, preferring to watch him sign conversations to her, or to text when they were apart. He was endearing, with his clumsy, scarred hands from hockey and his frankly uncanny gif usage that would leave her laughing uproariously into the night. 

It only took _three_ long, arduous, terrible years for Sansa to be one hundred percent certain that she would not harm him or lure him to her artificially - and meanwhile, of course, they had discovered that he wasn't a broody orphan boy after all.

But finally, the day arrived.

Jon had taken out the ear plugs, smiled as she said hello, more shyly than she'd ever said anything, tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear, and asked her on an official first date).

Her humming increased into a soft song, barely audible, but one of the sparrows flew straight into a sign post at the sound.

By the end of their first date, Jon had _tried_ to kiss her chastely. He had tried to kiss her softly, gently, even brushing her hair back from her face and leaning in slowly, aware of the hitch in her breathing and the way she curved into the hard planes of his body as her eyes fluttered closed.

But it had been like setting a match to kindling, and before she knew it, he had her pressed up against the door, hips in-between her thighs as one hand fisted in the curls at the back of her neck, and the other slid around her thigh to hold her up, to hold her tightly against him, to feel her heart thrum with each kiss along the curve of her neck. Jon had forced himself away from her, panting, before grinning unabashedly and saying, "G'night Sansa." 

Sansa had never wanted to let her song burst from her lips as much as she did in that moment - to call him back, to lure him into her bed, to devour him in the best ways.

That is, until the next date.

And the next.

At some point, she reckoned it became Pavlovian: look at Jon Snow, ruin another pair of perfectly good underwear.

She was going half-insane, if she was honest with herself, and he was entirely to blame. Jon Snow and his antiquated ideas of "taking things slowly." She had known the man half of her life, and wanted him for the last three years, and she spent half of her time using her vibrators and the other half charging them so she could continue to use them - and he wanted to take things _slowly_.

She groaned as she rounded the corner to her apartment, climbing the stairs and trying not to think about how much she desperately just wanted to sleep with him. To feel his body against hers, to revel in the smell of him, the sounds he would make when he -

She cut herself off abruptly as she unlocked her front door, shaking herself out of her reverie. Jon was supposed to come over that night so they could "have dinner" and "watch movies" and she was hopeful the lingerie she'd been wearing underneath her outfits for the last few dates was _finally_ going to properly appreciated.

As she unlocked the door, her rose-gold smartwatch buzzed with a multitude of messages from Margaery, coming in at the same rapid-fire pace as always, enough that she would have to roll her eyes and pull out her mobile to make sense of them.

 **MARGAERY** : Darling.

 **MARGAERY** : Arya just called me.

 **MARGAERY:** While I am ~furious~ you did not tell me immediately, I am ecstatic for you.

 **MARGAERY** : Text me all the salacious details when you’ve sufficiently recovered.

Sansa took a moment to recover her sense of balance and raise a curious eyebrow at her mobile as she shut the door gently behind her.

 **SANSA** : …

 **SANSA** : I don’t have anything to tell you??

 **SANSA** : Why did Arya call you?

 **SANSA** : That's suspicious. And weird.

 **SANSA** : Margaery. What is going on??

 **SANSA** : MARGAERY!!

\---

Arya's phone lit up repeatedly in the pocket of her jean jacket, buried underneath her Faceless M3N t-shirt and silenced to have her bang-a-thon in peace. 

The display read: 7 missed calls from SANSYPANTS.

\---

Jon was late.

Jon was _never_ late.

Sansa curled her hands into a fist and winced; she had forgotten to retract her talons again. Sighing, she traced her tongue across the cuts and watched absently as they healed themselves, glowing a gentle pink as they did so. She was sure there was a good reason why he hadn't shown up on time, and she was at least fifty percent certain that he wasn't just standing her up. He had had some dinner with his family the a few nights ago and had been off ever since them.

She rolled her eyes. Knowing Jon, he was likely two glasses of whiskey into an existential crisis, brooding about something or another, and it was up to her to rescue him. She finished the second glass of red wine, checked in the mirror to make sure her blood-red lips were still perfect, and stood on towering heels, ready to walk to Jon's apartment - well, not walk, per se, but catch a taxi there - and confront him, torture him, make sure he begged on his knees for her forgiveness and then _someone_ would get to appreciate this black set from La Perla.

(It was lovely and comfortable but she'd been consumed by the thought of what Jon's face would look like when he untied her wrap dress, when he discovered the dark lace and floral edging and the way that it covered almost nothing and that the access to her cunt was easy and - really, was it any wonder she was a little on edge?)

But just as she strode towards her front door, ready to hail a taxi and storm the metaphorical castle - there was a knock on the door.

And when she opened the door, there he was. Paler than she’d ever seen him, dark curls pulled back from his face, with a strange expression she’d never seen before.

“Jon?” she trilled in a shocked voice.

“Sansa,” he murmured quietly, wincing at the motion. “I'm sorry I'm late. Can I come in?”

Sansa rolled her shoulders, suppressing all the angry retorts she wanted to fire back at him; there was something odd in the way he was talking, so carefully enunciated. So, instead, she stepped back, and opened the door wide.

He hesitated, hands curled into fists at his sides, before she huffed, “Just come _in_ , Jon.”

And he walked over the threshold.

\---

Robb nudged Theon, passing his phone over so his boyfriend could read the messages pouring in at an honestly offensive pace from Arya. Theon flipped his curls out of his face, scanned the gifs and messages and chortled.

“Oh, poor Jon. Good for Sansa, though,” he said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Gross, don’t tell me,” Robb said, snatching his phone back. Being aware that his boyfriend and sister regularly engaged in brunch and secret-swapping sessions was one thing, but knowing the details of his sister’s sex life… he’d rather not.

“You don’t want me to bite you?”

Robb shook his head vehemently even as a flush rose to his cheeks.

“Oh, I see,” Theon said casually, green-eyes calculating as he rolled onto his elbow next to Robb. “You want to bite _me_.”

About thirty minutes later:

“Well,” Theon said, dangling half off the bed with bite marks littered up his torso and across his neck as Robb flopped on top of him, panting and heart racing. “That was certainly informative.” He brightened. “Oh, I can’t _wait_ for brunch this week.”

Robb groaned and pushed Theon off of the bed.

\---

Jon slumped on Sansa's couch and dropped his face into his hands.

When she moved to sit next to him, he nearly recoiled from her touch, before flashing her an apologetic glance.

"I'm sorry, I have something to tell you and just being around you is distracting enough."

Jon truly had a gift for being both complimentary and incredibly rude at the same time, but Sansa would be lying if she didn't preen a bit at the thought of distracting him from normal thought and speech patterns.

"Well," she gestured with her hands as she perched on the arm of the chair across from him, delicately crossing her ankles. "Get on with it, then."

He groaned, ran his hands through his hair, and looked up at her.

"Remember how I had dinner with my dad a few nights ago?"

Sansa nodded.

"So... it turns out there's a reason he's been trying to get in touch these last few months."

She arched an eyebrow, eyes narrowing. He seemed rather distraught for an inheritance kerfuffle.

"There's a Targaryen family curse, after all."

"Oh?" she said, trying to keep her voice level, recognizing that she was somehow the source of calm and reason in their relationship.

Jon finally looked up at her and offered a chagrined smile, allowing his fangs to come out properly, glinting in the low evening light. "Surprise," he said, laughing a little as her eyes widened. "I'm a vampire."

Sansa fell onto the seat of the chair, hand over her mouth, mind spinning as she stared at him.

Paler than usual, he hadn't come over until after sunset, his knee was bouncing so fast she could hardly see it, he wasn't breathing, and those - she peered a little closer at the white glints at the side of his mouth - those were _definitely_ fangs.

"Oh my god," she said, quietly.

\---

“Hmm,” grunted Ned as he sat in his leather armchair, glasses halfway down his nose as he read a text message from the kids. “Apparently Jon’s a vampire now.” He sipped his whiskey calmly as he looked over his spectacles at his lovely wife.

“That’s nice, dear,” Catelyn murmured, turning the pages of the brief for her case the next morning.

Silence returned to the Stark’s sitting room, with only the soft music playing from the record player disturbing the quiet. _I put a spell on you,_ it crooned, _and now you’re_ –

“I’m sorry, he’s a WHAT now?” Catelyn screeched, and it nearly knocked Ned out of his chair.

\---

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sansa exclaimed as she ground down into his lap, Jon’s hot breath at her neck as he licked the path of her jugular vein, his hands firmly on her writhing hips, hard enough that she'd surely have bruises the next day, but she wasn't complaining. 

His head snapped up, gray eyes molten. “Good?”

Sansa let her head fall on to his shoulder and moaned, “What do you think?”

(In retrospect, it had taken all of five minutes for Sansa to question him, poke his fangs with the tip of her manicured finger, confirm that yes, he still _very_ much wanted to date her, and then climb into his lap).

Jon pulled back, the hesitation in his slate gray eyes fading fast as his hands found purchase underneath her dress, tracing the edges of the lace as she whimpered. “I think you like it,” he said, wonderingly, staring up into those luminous blue eyes. 

"You idiot," she whispered, nudging her nose against his own delicately, "I like everything you do."

A slow smile bloomed on his face, turning predatory as he shifted his attention to the loosening ties of her wrap dress. He kept his eyes fixed on hers as he slowly untied the bow and pulled apart the wrap dress, watching the hitch in her breathing as she bit her lip and looked at him.

Jon let his gaze linger down past the long curve of her neck - and was struck dumb by the sight.

All black lace and floral outlines that didn't hide a _damn_ thing. Sansa's dusky nipples were just begging to be suckled, and the lace dipped low between her gorgeous, tantalizing breasts nearly to her belly button. One of his hands wrapped around her neck, brushing his thumb casually across her jawline, even as the other slid down between her breasts, over her stomach, and down to the heat of her, calloused fingers gliding over the gathered wetness as she gasped and his eyes widened. 

The fabric between her legs could best be described as non-existent.

"Sansa," he choked out, "you're going to _kill me_."

A light laugh escaped her lips. "Good thing you're already - oh, _oh_ \- undead," she panted, an amused look in her eyes.

Jon pulled her close, licking up the side of her neck, even as he slowly pushed two fingers inside of her, pulsing and pulling and rubbing with his thumb until she was shaking in his arms. He could feel the throbbing of her heartbeat as if it surrounded him, as if he was lost in it. "Oh, you'll pay for that."

"Will I?" she asked, a brow arched upwards, until he pushed another finger into her heat, enjoying how her eyes fluttered closed and her hips jerked forwards, how the pulse at the base of her neck jumped and grew steadily more red.

"You will," he growled, picking up the pace of his fingers, lowering his mouth to lavish attention on the lovely slope of her neck, reveling in the keening sounds escaping from her muffled mouth. It wasn't long until she was trembling in his arms, cunt pulsing and gushing around his fingers, and he couldn't help himself, not any longer.

Jon carefully let his fangs scrape across her delicate, flushed skin – warm with the rush of blood underneath. He could swear he could hear her heartbeat, could almost taste the sweetness of her essence, lilac and rosewater and something that was uniquely Sansa, something musky and delicious and _tempting as fuck_ and he bared his fangs and -

Suddenly, he had toppled her onto the couch and retreated to the other side of the room at an inhuman speed, pressing his body flat against the wall in an effort to disappear.

 _Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck –_ the chanting in his head grew louder and louder as Sansa quickly zeroed in on his heaving breaths and stood from the couch (it felt beyond strange to inflate his lungs just for the hell of it but some part of his brain still sent panic signals and some part of his body still received them and some basic, more innate part of him thought that if he could clear her scent, somehow, if he could just have a moment to _think_ he wouldn’t want to – he wouldn’t be tempted to -) _fuck fuck fuck_.

She sauntered towards him on shaky legs, and even though he knew she was actively suppressing her allure, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and ever would see and he didn’t deserve her and honestly, why had she even started dating him and that was before all this, surely she’d see reason now and –

Sansa tilted her head as she pondered the vampire pressed against her wall, clearly panicking over god knows what for only god knows why. She smiled fondly and lay both of her palms on his chilled cheeks, knowing that her wrists and scent were tantalizingly close to his nose. The skin on her wrists was nearly translucent, and she took advantage of that, watching as his pupils dilated once more.

He was afraid, and she thought it was likely he was afraid of himself – but she was absolutely, head over heels, crazy about him, and she wasn’t going to let some family curse stand in the way.

(Besides, Jon had stood by while she had grown into her siren heritage (from her mother’s side, of course) and while she’d been distraught that maybe she wasn’t a _true_ Stark because she wasn’t a werewolf like the rest of them (except baby Rickon, but he was still too young for anyone to know) and while she’d had approximately forty-five mishaps where she’d walk into the grocery store and accidentally walk out with all of her groceries having been gifted to her by bedazzled store clerks taken by the dulcet tones of the redhead).

“Jon,” she murmured, “I like you. A lot. And you don’t scare me.”

His grey eyes were wide, but he’d stopped faux-breathing, which she took as a good sign.

"I wasn't lying earlier," she continued as she lowered her palms to his chest. "I'm into everything you do. And honestly, this feels like one of my romance novels come to life."

"The vampire ones?" he said, wryly, a grin quirking at the corner of his mouth.

"Arya told you," she huffed, even as she pressed up against him, sighing happily as his hands slowly settled on her lower back.

"I'm glad she did," he said, before continuing hesitantly. “But… you’re not upset, even if I kind-of want to…”

“Not at all upset.” Sansa drew her hair off the side of her neck, tilting her head and _presenting_ the gentle slope of her neck to him.

(If she had learned all of this from romance novels, Jon was a bit terrified to know what it would be like when they actually slept together).

(Terrified in a _good_ way, of course).

(Mostly).

“And,” she continued, as he still hadn’t moved a muscle, “I’d like you to.”

His mouth fell open.

“You want me to –“ he trailed off, unable to even say it yet. It was still too… fresh. (Gods, he needed to come up with some new turns of phrase).

“Drink my blood, Jon, just a taste.” Her dark eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “I want to see what it’s like, to be under your thrall even more than I already am.”

Jon felt his fangs pressing into his lips as he grinned, broadly, unable to ignore instinct and desire any longer - not once she had given him her explicit permission. He drew her into a bruising kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her against the wall until she broke away, gasping for air.

(There was at least one advantage, he thought, to not having to breathe.

His mind flashed immediately to kneeling between her delicious thighs, to tasting that forbidden, sweet fruit that he could almost _smell_ in the air.

Maybe more than one advantage, then. They’d have to experiment).

“I think I might love you,” Jon confessed, as he pressed rapid kisses to the curve of her jaw, before traversing down to her neck, enjoying her stifled whimpers as she writhed against him in black lace.

“You’re _mine_ , Jon Snow,” Sansa gasped as he teased his fangs across her neck, leg slung over his hip so she could grind up against him, so his fingers could find her cunt once more and fill her, thrill her.

“Yours,” he promised, in a low voice that shot electricity into her spine, just before his fangs pierced her skin and a stuttering whimper escaped her lips.

\---

Theon waited until Sansa collapsed into a chair at brunch, but not a second more, handing her a champagne glass as he demanded: "So, how was it?"

"Theon!"

"Come on, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Sansa's eyebrows shot up as Theon pulled aside the collar of his t-shirt to reveal a definite bite mark across his collarbone. 

"Oh my _god_ ," she snorted, nearly spilling her over-full champagne. "You copycats. Did you decide to role-play as us or..."

"No," he grinned lecherously. "At least, not intentionally. Arya texted us about Jon and things just kind-of... escalated from there." Sansa just shook her head reprovingly, even as he gestured to her neck, green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Now, let me see yours!" 

As brunch was a place for confessions and delusions - mostly, that she pretended Theon was dating some mystery man on the side and _not_ her brother - she had a duty to uphold. Sansa rolled her eyes but quickly unwrapped the floral scarf tied loosely around her neck to reveal the bite marks - they were nearly healed, but the area was still tender to the touch, and just thinking about them brought a low heat to her belly.

Theon's jaw dropped and it took him a moment to recover. "Well, I'll be damned. He did it."

Sansa laughed, before she said, "I will most definitely cheers to that." 

They clinked glasses.

"Should we wait to eat or... ?" she asked, basking in the sunshine on the patio, preparing to dig in to a veritable feast, grateful for the combined culinary skills of their brunch team (the local bakery, mostly).

"Nah," Theon said, having already filled his plate to extravagance and stuffed three mushroom-bites into his mouth.

Footsteps echoed on the tile and the two of them turned towards the archway, grateful for the privacy that Theon's flat offered them. "Did you guys start without me, again?" Gendry asked, as he pulled out another bottle of bubbly and a tray of hand-made lemon blueberry scones from his bag. 

"Never," they said in unison, mouths stuffed with raspberry creme tart and hashbrowns, respectively. 

"Right," Gendry said, even as he smirked at the two of them, before he brought out a dog-eared book from his bag and waited for his companions to do the same. "Now, this week's read was _Kiss Me, Kill Me, Keep Me_ _Forever_ , and I, for one, have some questions."

**Author's Note:**

> well. 
> 
> here we are. 
> 
> happy halloween month. 
> 
> (come fangirl with me on my [my tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/jolieunfiltrd))


End file.
